


Because You're Human

by soccer



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Hollstein - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soccer/pseuds/soccer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set the day after episode 18. Laura's trying to get to sleep but the Zetas, Summer Society, and basically the whole school are partying. Laura's not the only one having a hard time getting to sleep because of the fireworks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because You're Human

It’s 1 AM, the next day, and they’re still partying. Even though classes are pretty much nonexistent, you assume people need to sleep to function. You for one, require sleep. You should have fought harder for the bed. The couch provides no support for sleeping.

You're grateful that Carmilla and Mattie are laying now. That means no partying from them at least. IF you can ever get to sleep, you won't have to worry about them waking you up.

You turn over to face the back of the couch; maybe it will be more comfortable. You're going to need all your strength to figure out a way to save Carmilla and JP. It’s your fault, and you're going to fix it, even if you have to take down Vordy. You count the seams on the back of the couch, willing sleep to come.

Firework after firework goes off in the background, illuminating the room in a sea of colors.

Eventually, you're able to drift in and out of a light sleep. You're in between sleeping periods when you hear footsteps pad downstairs. You think nothing of it. Probably JP going to get more blood, or LaF running some new science experiment, or Perry frantically cleaning in nervousness.

So, you're surprised when a finger comes and pokes you softly in the shoulder, and even more surprised when a voice speaks, _her_ voice.

“You awake, cupcake?” Her voice is small, raspy, and defeated.

You have half a mind to just pretend like you are asleep until she leaves. She probably wants to say ‘I told you so’ or annoy you like she’s been doing since you broke up. You handle it during the day, at night, you just want a break.

That’s your plan, until a particularly loud bout of fireworks goes off close to the apartment. You hear a squeak and a thump behind you. Surprised, you turn over.

There, huddled on the ground in a ball, is Carmilla. You stare in shock. You hesitate before placing a hand on her shoulder in comfort. You're not exactly sure where the line is anymore, so this seems safe. She jumps in surprise at the contact and looks up at you with scared, tired eyes.

“Did I wake you, cutie?” she teases stiffly.

You don’t reply, just study her. The bags under her eyes are akin to the night after you slept together for the first time. Her hair is the same way. Basically, she looks like she just had sex, except for the fact her skin is paler than normal and her face is etched in fear, not happiness or contentment.

“What do you want?” you whisper. You're still salty for the way she’s been treating you and your friends. Her being upset changes nothing.

She goes to reply, but is cut off by fireworks. She pushes herself against the side of the couch, pressing herself tighter into a ball. You pet her head, like she used to do to you, to calm her down. It works and she looks up at you again, but doesn’t speak.

“What’s wrong?” you ask desperately. You want to get back to trying to sleep, but your annoying ex is getting in the way.

“Can I-” her voice breaks. She clears her throat before continuing. “Can I sleep with you?”

You freeze mid pet. You were not expecting _that_. You're not entirely sure what you were expecting, but that wasn’t it.

A selfish part of you desperately want to turn over, ignore her and her pleas. She rejected your plea for help once, now you can finally show her how much it hurts. Give her a taste of her own medicine.

But the way she looks up at you, so broke and needy, you realize it’s not the same. She didn’t reject helping you; she rejected helping the school. You were desperate to save the school, right your wrong, make up for leaving. She wasn’t. She just wanted to be with you.

“Fine,” you say in semi-fake annoyance. It’s not really a bother, though you probably will regret it in the morning when you wake up and she’s gone. But you're still not happy with how she’s been treating you.

She looks at you like you put the stars in the sky, and it hurts. It hurts knowing that she probably won't look at you that way again.

She quickly jumps up from her place on the floor. She looks down at the much too small couch and frowns.

“How will I-” but she is cut off by fireworks again.

She jumps straight into the couch and on top of you. You let out a grunt as the weight of her body falls on you. You maneuver a bit to fit you both comfortably on the couch together.

She ends up being on top of you, resting her head under your chin. Her legs intertwine with yours. She stills for a moment, before bring her arms around your back, pulling you closer. You do the same.

“Sorry,” she whispers into your skin. You fight off a shiver her warm breath brings.

“It’s fine.” And it honestly is. You can't remember the last time you felt so at peace. Probably the last time you were in this position.

You feel her eyelashes on your neck every time she blinks. It tickles, but it also comforts you to know she is still awake and still with you.

Every so often, fireworks explode in the distance, some closer than others. Every time Carmilla tenses in your arms. You’ve taken to running your fingers though her hair in an effort to calm her. It doesn’t help much, but you think she appreciates the gesture. She smiles into your skin each time, so it’s a safe bet.

After what seems like an hour, the fireworks stop. Maybe they finally ran out. After a few minutes sans fireworks, Carm relaxes fully into you. Her body molding with yours.

“The fireworks remind me of the bombs. After being in that coffin for decades, no noise, no light, they terrified me,” she speaks in a hushed whisper.

“No need to explain.” You should have guessed it. PTSD is a common thing, especially on battle fields.

You pull her impossibly closer. If you're only going to have one night of this, you're going to make the most of it.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

You don’t know what to say, so you kiss the top of her head. Actions speak louder than words. She sighs happily when you do. You smile into her hair.

You breathe inversely from her: breathing in when she breathes out and vice versa. You hand still combs through her messy hair, but becoming slower as you drift to sleep.

Soon your hand stops all together and your breathing evens out.

You don’t hear her whisper those three words to you. They fall on sleeping ears.

You don’t hear yourself whispering them back to her. Telling her secrets you haven’t even learned.

You don’t feel a tear drop hit your neck and pool in the hollow of your throat.

You don’t experience any of it because your human and you need sleep.


End file.
